


colours

by ThatsrightZoeyeyye



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Prompt Fic, colour, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatsrightZoeyeyye/pseuds/ThatsrightZoeyeyye
Summary: today is the 1st anniversary of my first fic on this site! i thought i should celebrate, and stry provided A+ prompts in the starkid writes discord server (link in my profile if anyone's interested), so here i amprompt: colour
Relationships: Jemilla/Zazzalil (Firebringer)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 39





	colours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkid writes discord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=starkid+writes+discord).



> today is the 1st anniversary of my first fic on this site! i thought i should celebrate, and stry provided A+ prompts in the starkid writes discord server (link in my profile if anyone's interested), so here i am  
> prompt: colour

yellow

was the colour of Jemilla's hoodie the day they met.

It was their first day in university, and they were nervous, bursting with anticipation, and more shy than they wished they could be. Zazzalil had arrived right before the professor, rushing to the closest empty seat.

The girl next to her was beautiful, in her bright yellow hoodie, thin glasses and carefully arranged hair, with her legs close to her chest and a notebook on her knees, doodling flowers in the margins as she waited for the lecture to begin. She had shot a brief smile at Zazzalil.

purple

was the colour of Zazzalil's hair that day.

She'd dyed it that summer, exhilarated by the end of high school and the prospect of real education, real classes, real parties. She had curled her fingers around her cup of coffee, pulling her laptop from her bag - she'd heard that it was the college aesthetic, but frankly her only sources were American TV shows, and she wasn't sure she should trust them - and smiled back.

red

was the colour of the leaves in the trees next to Jemilla's favourite library, where they met almost every day that first autumn.

They would talk for hours on end, about nothing and everything. There was conflict, and disagreement, but by the third autumn, they'd settled it.

"Friends?" Jemilla has asked, nervous, extending her hand.

"Friends," Zazzalil had answered, grinning and holding the other girl's hand a little too long after shaking it.

A leaf had fallen in her hair, deep red in her light brown curls, and Jemilla had removed it before tickling her exposed angle with it.

green

was the colour of Jemilla's crop top the day Zazzalil admitted to herself that she liked her. Like, _liked_ liked her.

It hung tight around her shoulders, revealing her collarbones and her stomach. She wasn't any more gorgeous than usual, but she'd laughed at something stupid Tyblin had said, and Zazzalil hadn't been able to help herself from grinning at the sight of her friend, as she had hidden her smile behind her hands, her shoulders falling inwards before pulling back, the muscles in her arms shifting under the short cut sleeves as she had run her hand through her hair. It was mesmerising.

pink

was the colour of Jemilla's lipstick the first time they kissed.

Emberly had made her wear it, for some reason that was forgotten along the years, and as she studied her reflexion in Zazzalil's sunglasses before they were supposed to leave for Emberly's birthday party, she had seemed doubtful.

"I don't know if this colour fits me," she'd said, her cheeks slightly pink, although Zazzalil didn't notice.

"It does," Zazzalil had answered, grateful that her sunglasses hid how she was shamelessly staring at her friend's lips, "you look beautiful."

Jemilla had smiled shyly, before removing the sunglasses from Zazzalil's face.

"How does it look without the dark screen?" she'd asked, and Zazzalil had tried to hide the way her breath caught in her throat at the sight. She really was beautiful.

"There's a small smudge on the right," she'd said, and when Jemilla hadn't been able to find it, she had brushed the nail of her thumb along the edge of her friend's bottom lip, hating how close they were, hating how loud her heart beat and how red her cheeks certainly were, and hating that she was so ridiculously, so painfully and so stupidly in love with her friend.

brown

was the colour of Jemilla's eyes.

She knew that, of course, after four years of university together and two of friendship, but she'd never seen them from that close. There was a hint of green, at the center, just around the edge of her pupils, but it was mostly brown. Light, with slashes of a darker brown shooting from the center and spots littering her irises like constellations.

Her eyes had stayed in Zazzalil for a few seconds, then down to her lips. She had tilted her head slightly to the side, inching closer, and Zazzalil had stopped moving, afraid to do something stupid, terrified of reading the situation wrong, her hand still hanging between them.

Then Jemilla had brushed her lips on hers, softly, questioningly, and Zazzalil had let her hand rest on the back of her neck, fingers melting in her hair.

It had felt weird, kissing with lipstick, but it was Jemilla, and when she had felt the corners of her lips shoot up, Zazzalil had deepened the kiss, her heart skipping a beat at Jemilla's enthusiastic response.

lilac

was the colour of Jemilla's hoodie the day of their last university lecture.

Zazzalil had slid in the seat next to her and handed her a cup of coffee. They hadn't made a habit of it, not wanting to spare money daily on something they didn't need, but Zazzalil was always good at noticing when her girlfriend needed it.

Jemilla had smiled at her, burying her wrists in the soft coloured fabric, letting the coffee smoke swirl around her cheeks.

Somewhere along the years, she'd stopped putting so much care in her hair, letting it fall around a face as it wished. It was beautiful, and Zazzalil liked being the one to tuck rebel curls behind her girlfriend's ears and seeing the corner of her lips curl up in a soft smile.

grey

was the colour of Zazzalil's shirt the day she met Jemilla's family.

She'd been nervous, afraid that they wouldn't like her. Jemilla was calm, collected and organised, only letting herself go when she thought no one was watching (although she did let Zazzalil in on her antics more on more often), so surely her family must be uptight. She'd dressed nice, willing to impress.

The second she'd met Molag, all of her doubts had been forgotten. The woman had pulled them in and started talking, only interrupting herself to pat Jemilla's cheeks lovingly and whisper something that made her blush and hiss "stop that" in a tone that was usually reserved for Zazzalil's crude jokes.

Molag had rushed to find all the embarassing pictures of Jemilla she could find, before finding the cute ones, beginning with the day of her adoption.

"Look at that smile," she had exclaimed, "the woman at the centre kept saying she'd never seen the kid so happy!"

"I was so innocent," Jemilla chuckled, "if only I'd known how you'd treat me after that."

"Such a cruel mother I've been," Molag had smiled, "refusing to let your read after ten P.M. at eight years old."

"It was torture," Jemilla had whined dramatically, burrying her head in Zazzalil's shoulder.

black

was the colour of their clothes at Zazzalil's father funeral.

She hadn't said a word, afraid that if she opened her mouth she'd cry until it hurt so much her heart would stop beating. Jemilla had kept her arm around her waist the whole time, her fingers tracing gentle circles on her hip, soothing, distracting her from the pain. She'd stayed silent, understanding, ever so kind, and she'd held her tight that night, in their bed in the apartment they'd bought the year before, after three years together. She'd brushed her hand through her hair, comforting, and Zazzalil had cried until she fell asleep.

blue

was the colour of Jemilla's dress when they had gone to a nice restaurant for their fifth anniversary.

It had looked nice on her, with off the shoulder sleeves, exposing her neck and collarbones, the skirt falling just below her knees, soft fabric brushing around her like flower petals. She looked at Zazzalil like she was her whole world, and even after five years Zazzalil still felt a rush of happiness bubbling to the surface at the knowledge that she was the one who made Jemilla happy, that those shy smiles were made for her, that the way she stared from under her eyelashes like there was nobody around was because of her.

silver

was the colour of the ring Jemilla had presented to Zazzalil that evening.

It was also the colour of the ring Zazzalil had presented to Jemilla mere seconds later, mumbling something along the lines of 'it's not fair' and 'you beat me to it' and 'I love you so much' in between kisses.

arctic seal

was the colour of the napkins they had ended up settling on for the wedding dinner, after much debate.

There were many, many shades of grey available, and many, many fabrics, cuts and designs. It had felt ridiculous, but they had found one that they both liked, and Jemilla had pressed a light kiss to the corner Zazzalil's mouth, apologising for rejecting her first suggestion.

cream

had been the colour of the first napkins Zazzalil had suggested.

Jemilla had protested that it would look properly hideous, since they had already settled on light blue tablecloths.

"You're properly hideous," Zazzalil had huffed, crossing her arms, and Jemilla had grinned.

"That's not what you said last night," she had muttered under her breath as she walked behind her, and Zazzalil had stubbornly kept her eyes away from her fiancée.

beige

was the colour of Jemilla's waistcoat and slacks as she stood across the table from the mayor.

She was beautiful, with her light brown curls surrounding her face, eyeliner sharp as she stared as Zazzalil, her jaw clenching to keep herself from gaping.

white

was the colour of Zazzalil's dress.

She could have gotten married in a suit, but in the end, she liked the idea of wedding dresses, and she did like the way Jemilla's eyes pierced into her as she walked towards her, the room silent and still. The dress clung to her chest with blower embroidery, and flowed from her waist to her feet, the fabric soft and light, and when she spun it swirled around her like in the movies.

orange

was the colour they chose for their first child's bedroom wall.

It was a light orange, soft and soothing, and it only covered the bottom half of the walls. It felt like a nice, calm environment for her child to grow up in, and Zazzalil complained loudly as she tried to keep the make the limit between the orange bottom part and the white upper part smooth and straight. Jemilla had to resist the urge to kiss the smudges of paint away from her wife's face, remembering at the last second that it would taste terrible and surely couldn't be good for the baby, and kissed her square on the mouth instead. Zazzalil welcomed it.


End file.
